Drowning Sorrows
by Verdreht
Summary: (And Other Things) When Nathan found Duke drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch, he had no idea it would end like it did. Now, with things between them worse than ever, what's it going to take for Nathan to figure out how he feels?
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long and painfully boring day. No calls came in, not one, and in the absence of something better to do, Nathan had spent the better part of the day wading through stack after stack of paperwork. The stuff had a tendency to back up, especially since all the cases with Troubled people ended up being an exercise in creative writing. To be honest, he wasn't much of a writer himself, but he had to admit, he was getting pretty good at it.

The thought really should've bothered him more than it did.

In fact, by the end of the night, he was actually kind of grateful for it. He'd decided just to stay late and knock the whole thing out. It would be kind of nice, he thought, to be all caught up on his paperwork. At least until the next Troubled person came around and turned the town on its head again.

So…probably a day, maybe two.

Regardless, there was an overwhelming surge of relief when he crossed his last T and dotted his last I. It was nearly ten o'clock, mind, but he'd definitely done worse. He was actually looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Coat on, car keys in hand, Nathan started out of the office. Things were looking good. He made it out of the building without being stopped. He got to his car, and nothing happened. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he wondered if today might actually be the day when nothing went to hell in a hand basket.

And then the radio flared to life.

_"Nathan, hun, you there?"_

He didn't think he'd ever been so _shattered_ to hear LaVerne's voice over the radio. And for that matter, when did that woman ever stop working? He really should've known, being the chief and all, but he'd never really thought about it before now. He made a mental note to look into it later.

_"Nathan?"_

Oh well, he might as well bite the bullet. "Yeah, Laverne, I'm here. What've you got?" Because why else would she be getting him on the radio at eleven at night?

_"We got a call in a few minutes ago, said there was some sort of disturbance and that it sounded like someone was ransacking the place."_

"Where?"

_"That Crocker's place, the Grey—" _

"I know the place." And he knew that, if his night hadn't been ruined already, it sure as hell was now. Leave it to Duke to get in trouble on quite possibly the only day in Haven history where nothing else when wrong. He cursed the man under his breath.

And yet, even as he cursed him, he was peeling out of the parking lot of the station as fast as his truck could take him.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the Bronco as Nathan pulled into the Grey Gull. He barely even bothered stopping before he was jumping out, his gun at the ready. Without so much as slowing down, he booked it to the front door. Only then did he slow, and it was only to listen.

Not a sound.

The lights were on, though, he noticed. Duke's car was in the lot. No, Duke was definitely here. But…it didn't look like anyone else was.

Frowning, Nathan straightened a bit. He chanced a glance inside through the window, and—

"Son of a bitch."

Nathan pulled the door open and strode inside, torn between being confused, irritated, and yeah, a little bit worried.

There, sitting at the bar, was none other than Duke Crocker. He had his back to Nathan, but from the bottle Nathan could see sitting on the bar next to him and the way his head tipped back occasionally, it seemed safe to say he was drinking.

The bar was in ruins around him.

Well, maybe 'ruins' was a strong word. It wasn't too bad, but neither was it in its usual form. Most of the destruction seemed to be centered around the bar: shards of glass from broken bottles littered the floor, and every stool but the one Duke was occupying had been turned over. All the salt shakers and napkin holders that generally lined the bar had been overturned or fallen off altogether, as if swept away.

And there Duke sat amongst all of it, like he didn't even notice it was there.

The same, however, couldn't be said for Nathan. As he took the first couple of steps in, he felt and heard the crunch of glass beneath his boot.

Duke's reaction wasn't immediate. He didn't snap around or gasp or anything, but Nathan could still tell. He could read it in the way his shoulders stiffened, pulling tighter against the fabric of his blue button-up. He could read it in the way his head seemed to tip forward, as if concealing one of those trademark Duke expressions of incredulity.

But more than that, it was just this…sense. He knew Duke knew he was there, just like he knew that something was definitely very wrong about this picture. And he had the sneaking suspicion that something was Duke himself.

"Sign said closed," said the smuggler without so much as glancing back. The words were casual enough, but there was something in his tone…something reedy and strained, and Nathan saw a hand reach out to grip the bottle by the neck. There was a splash of liquid, then the bottle returned to its place, and once again, Duke's head tipped back.

Something about the sight brought a lump to his throat. He wondered how many times Duke had done this, how many times he'd sat at his own bar, alone, drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. All the time he'd been avoiding him – because that was what he'd been doing. Avoiding him. He'd like to say it was because of Duke's Trouble, that he didn't trust him, but that wasn't it. Not all of it, at least.

It was because he could still feel it. Still feel him. His hand still tingled from that brush on the boat after they'd beat the ever-loving shit out of each other; his skin still burned with every touch since, accidental and not-so-accidental. It was why he stayed away – because every time he was around, he couldn't help wanting to get close to him, just to feel again. Just to test it, to make sure it was real. He just—he couldn't _stop_. He didn't even know that he wanted to.

And that was what scared him.

He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Duke's back to survey the place. "What happened here?"

Duke's shoulders bobbed a little in the barest hints of a chuckle. "Pardon our mess while we redecorate."

"Don't be a smartass," Nathan shot back. He made his way over to the bar, just a bit behind Duke, and folded his arms across his chest. "Someone called the station about some sort of disturbance. Said it sounded like someone was ransacking the place. Don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

Another sip of what looked a lot like whiskey, and then, "Can't say I would." He sounded so blasé, so nonchalant, but even though he couldn't see Duke's face, Nathan knew that something was wrong. His voice just sounded…raw, and Nathan could practically taste the distress rolling off him in waves. For a guy that was usually so good at concealing his emotions, Duke was broadcasting awfully loud tonight.

And the fact that he was being such a dick about it frankly ticked Nathan off. "Damn it, Duke, I got called out here for a reason, and I don't have time to—"

"Then go." The two words cut through Nathan's own like a knife, sharp and stinging. "You've done your civic duty and all that, so get going." The whole time, Duke didn't so much as look at him, and even as he polished off another glass, his face stayed obscured. "I don't mean to bean ungracious host or anything, but I'm sure you and your mad cop skills can find your own way out."

Part of Nathan wanted to do just that, on principle. If Duke wanted to be an ass, then so be it; he could take care of his own mess. Besides, Nathan was starting to wonder if there had ever been an intruder at all. The cuts on Duke's hands didn't look like defensive wounds, but rather like nicks from glass. If he'd made the mess, then why shouldn't Nathan leave him to clean it up by his own damn self?

But then…something stopped him. He didn't know what, and he didn't know why, but instead of heading for the door like he knew he should've, like he would've had every right to, he stopped. Carefully, he picked up one of the stools from where it had fallen amongst the broken glass surrounding the bar, and he righted it next to Duke's.

He should leave him, he thought, and yet even as he thought about it, he sat down next to him. Hell, maybe it was Audrey talking, but Duke had done a lot for them lately. Done a lot, he would admit, for _him. _

The man beside him had helped him find Audrey when she'd been taken. He'd chased him through a damn corn field when, at the time, he had no idea what would be waiting for him. And though Nathan gave him grief for it – he realized a little guiltily that he didn't remember a time when he'd let the opportunity slip by to remind the guy of it – he'd saved dozens, maybe hundreds of lives killing that Nix guy. He'd risked his life trying to save a woman that had, less than an hour before, nearly drowned him, and all while Nathan had been pointing a gun at him. And when he'd died…Audrey had filled him in, and she hadn't skimped on any of the details, of just how hard Duke had worked to help her get him back. How he'd been the first of them to run over to him. He still remembered the smile, the odd look on his face when he'd come back. Was it relief?

And now that he thought about it, he'd never really thanked him. Not just for that last one, but for any of it. Worse, he'd antagonized him for it, never failing to doubt him at every turn, never hiding his suspicions.

Thinking about it, he didn't even know why he said half those things. He didn't…he didn't mean them. At least, he didn't think he did. It was just, when Duke was around, stuff slipped. It was like a knee-jerk reaction. A reflex. The way Duke made him feel whenever he was around….

"Don't suppose you've got another glass lying around here in one piece."

Duke's head dropped, and a huff that might've been a chuckle sounded from beneath the curtain of dark hair. "You've got to be kidding me."

Rather than dignifying that with a response, though, Nathan reached around Duke and grabbed what looked to be the sole surviving piece of glassware in sight. It was a mug, but damned if Nathan cared.

"What are you doing?" Duke muttered as Nathan picked up the bottle – he'd been right: whiskey – and poured himself a glass.

"What does it look like?"

"It _looks_ like I should start remembering to lock my door." And if Nathan detected a hint of a sulk in the words or the way Duke snatched the bottle back, he wisely chose not to mention it. "Listen, if you're here to—"

"Did you do this?" He tried to sound casual, keeping his eyes trained forward a taking a swig of bourbon. Of course it was the good stuff, he thought.

There was silence for a moment, and Nathan wondered if Duke was just going to ignore him. But then, "Not all of it."

Nathan's eyebrow ticked. "You had help?"

Duke's shoulders bobbed in a chuckle. "Help," he said. "Right."

"So, what happened?" Nathan was doing his level best not to lose his patience, but Duke's deflections were starting to irk him. He was trying to—he _wanted_ to help. He didn't know why, but he _wanted_ to, and Duke was being difficult. Was it so hard for him just to come out and tell Nathan what happened?

Then again, Nathan thought, he hadn't exactly made it easy for the other guy to talk to him in the past few months. Maybe – and he admitted this hesitantly, but earnestly – it was his fault. He could at least hang out for a couple drinks and make sure he was okay. He owed Duke that.

"Duke," he prompted again, when Duke didn't answer. "What happened?"

Duke's hand disappeared into his mess of hair, and after a long moment, he let out a sigh. "Just a bar fight," he said.

"You usually close at," Nathan checked his watch, "ten-thirty for 'just a bar fight?'"

"Yeah, well, one of the perks of being the owner, I guess."

Another deflection.

Nathan sighed. "We gonna do this all night?" he asked.

"Or you could go home," Duke said, and Nathan didn't have to see his face to imagine the cheeky smile that was probably curled on his lips right about then.

He'd let him hold onto it for a little while. See, Nathan didn't claim to be an expert in all things Duke, but then, he figured he was probably as close as anyone was going to get. He'd grown up with the guy, and maybe it was rough, but there had been a time when they'd been friends.

There was a time when they'd been more than that.

The thought merited another mouthful of scotch, but by then, the damage was already done. He remembered…he remembered after high school. Things had gotten pretty hot and heavy, and then Duke had—well, Duke had just disappeared. Dropped off the face of the earth, as far as Nathan knew.

When he'd popped back up, Nathan hadn't been sure what to think. In the end, he'd decided that being angry was better than being confused, and he'd kept to the creed of hating Duke Crocker from that day forth.

But then Audrey had shown up, and she'd turned everything on its head. She'd brought Duke back into his life, forced him to spend time with him. She'd forced him to see Duke as more than just a smuggler – it had been all too easy, especially being a police officer, to only see Duke in those terms – which had effectively ruined all his hard work. Working on cases had become celebratory drinks after the cases, which had become watching games on Duke's big screen TV and drinks together that had absolutely nothing to do with cases (or, sometimes, Audrey) at all. Somehow, despite Nathan's best efforts, they'd gotten…closer.

And then Duke's Trouble had kicked in.

He wasn't sure really what happened after then. All the mess with the Guard, with Jordan, with Audrey – it had all gotten out of hand, and he'd had to work his ass off just trying to keep everything together. Maybe he had taken out a few too many of his frustrations on Duke; maybe he projected a few too many of his own suspicions onto him, when really, the people he was suspicious of were those he was most protective of.

Whatever the hell had happened, it had somehow ended up here. And maybe, Nathan thought, this was exactly where it needed to end up: he and Duke drinking together in the ruins of Duke's bar. A wiser man that Nathan might've said there was a metaphor or a moral to be found in there somewhere.

Nathan leaned more towards the idea that they would both have to be pretty drunk to open up to one another.

However, with half the bottle gone before Nathan had even gotten there and the barely-there-but-noticeable slur in Duke's voice, if Duke wasn't exactly "pretty drunk" yet, he was heading that direction fast. And it just so happened Nathan knew what buttons to press.

After all, in the past few months, there was only one thing he could think of that could have Duke looking so miserable, so defeated, so…scared. Only one thing that could break him down like this.

"Something happened with your Trouble, didn't it?"


	2. Chapter 2

World champions would've killed for Duke Crocker's poker face. Even _clearly_ drunk and distressed, Duke almost looked like he hadn't even heard Nathan.

Unfortunately for Duke, Nathan wasn't blind. He was a detective, and yes, he _did_ have a pair of eyes and a functioning knowledge of Duke-isms. He, unlike the average observer, didn't miss the tensing of Duke's shoulders, nor the way his finger paused only momentarily as it tapped a rhythm on his tumbler.

He'd touched a nerve.

Since it seemed like Duke wasn't going to be volunteering anything on his own, Nathan pressed him. "Duke, if something happened—"

"I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you're asking," Duke said, and even though his voice was quiet, it was razor sharp.

There was no denying the surge of relief that hit Nathan at the words, even if he did feel a little guilty about it. It wasn't that he'd really thought Duke had killed someone – for one, Duke wasn't dumb enough to kill someone and then stick around; for two, and arguably more to the point, Duke wasn't that kind of person. For all the shit Nathan gave him, Duke really was a good guy. He had killed, but he'd had a damn good reason. Hundreds of people…_kids_…and Nathan had tormented about it.

Christ, when did he become such an asshole?

But even though he hadn't thought Duke had killed anybody, that didn't mean it wasn't good to hear it confirmed.

He sighed. "That isn't what I was asking."

"Of course it wasn't," Duke muttered. He didn't exactly sound convinced, and Nathan watched as he took another swig of scotch. This time, when he sat it down, though, Nathan was waiting with the bottle to fill it again. His way of saying, _I'm sorry_. And he was. He was sorry that Duke thought that. That he'd made him think that he doubted him so much.

With everything that had been going on, he'd been looking for someone to blame. He guessed he'd just thought Duke could take it, all the shit he threw his way. He'd thought it would roll of Duke like everything else did, never stick. It wasn't that he was trying to make excuses or anything, he just…he hadn't ever really thought about what Duke was having to deal with, too, with his Trouble.

But seeing Duke now, seeing the slump of his shoulders and how intensely he was staring at that scotch glass, like it was the last cartridge in the box, and he was in the middle of the zombie apocalypse…it put things into perspective. It reminded him that, underneath all the snark and bravado, Duke was as human as the rest of them. Maybe even more so.

"So," he said after a moment, if only because the silence that had fallen between them was dense and awkward, and he wanted to break it, "a bar fight, huh?"

Duke let out a chuckle, and this one actually almost sounded real. "A bar fight," he confirmed. "Two guys got drunk and were going at it, scaring all the other customers."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"If I called the police every time someone got a little rowdy, you guys would spend more time here than at the station. And don't take this the wrong way, but that might be a little bad for business. Besides, I figured I could handle it."

"You figured?" Nathan didn't like the sound of that. It made it seem like he'd been proven wrong.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly counting on one of them being super-charged," Duke muttered. "Stepped in to break them up, got a solid right hook for my trouble."

He'd gotten hit, then. Nathan made a note to check on that later, once he'd gotten the story. Which, "Speaking of Trouble…what happened with that?"

A shudder seemed to pass through Duke, and Nathan got enough of a glimpse of his face to see the hint of a grimace. "I don't know," he said. "The guy must've had blood on his hand when he hit me or something. One second I was hitting the bar head-first, the next I was throwing the guy across the room." He cut his eyes over at Nathan. "Don't worry, though; I don't think I hurt him."

"It wasn't him I was going to ask about," Nathan said without thinking. He found, though, that he didn't want to take it back. It was true; it was Duke he was worried about. Seeing him sitting there, his hands all scratched up from glass shards – and…were they shaking? – his head bowed, his shoulders drawn in like he was trying to hide from the world.

Or maybe, Nathan thought, just him. God only knew he had every reason to.

The thought struck Nathan hard. A lump rose in his throat, and in that moment, Trouble or not, Nathan felt a pain more keen in his chest than anything he could imagine. Everything he'd done to Duke…all the shit he gave him for his Trouble when Duke himself was more afraid of it than probably anyone else. And if Nathan ever doubted he was, all he had to do was look at the guy now, shaken and alone, and those doubts would die on the spot.

Well, maybe not alone. Not anymore. Not if Nathan had anything to say about it.

Turning in his stool, bracing one foot on the ground and an elbow on the bar, he tried to get a better look at Duke. Maybe it was just shadowing, he thought, but it looked like there was some odd coloring across the bridge of Duke's nose. A little swelling, even.

His brows furrowed. "You okay?"

Duke seemed to think about it for a second. "Give it another…half a bottle, I should be peachy," he said. When he reached for the bottle, though, Nathan moved it out of his reach.

"Let me see."

"See what, Nathan?" The words came out in a sigh as Duke sat his glass back on the counter. Clearly, he wasn't in the mood to talk. At least, not sober.

Nathan was undeterred. "Where that guy hit you – let me see."

"Don't worry about it."

"Too late," Nathan said. "Just…." He reached for Duke's chin to turn his head, only to pause when Duke flinched back. Really flinched, he meant, not like Duke was trying to be stubborn, but like he was expecting to be hit. He hadn't meant to; at least, it didn't look like he had. His shoulders pulled in more, and he reached for his glass.

He only managed to lift it about an inch off the table before Nathan pushed it back down.

"Damn it, Nathan, what's your—"

"Look at me, Duke," Nathan said.

"Nathan, I'm not—"

"_Look at me_." He needed to see his face. He needed to see what had happened to him, how bad he was hurt…and he wasn't just talking about the right hook.

And when Duke did, when he did look, Nathan's jaw clenched.

"Jesus," he breathed. Automatically, he pushed himself to his feet, coming to stand between their two stools, leaning precariously back against the bar so that he could get a better look.

The left side of Duke's face was a mess. Spreading from about a two-inch cut on his cheek, angry red bruising colored his olive skin. His cheekbone was swollen, and the swelling looked to be reaching his eye. It was already puffy, and Nathan wondered if, come morning, it wouldn't be swollen shut. As it was, though, he could see enough to know that the whites of his eyes were red. Burst blood vessels.

He reached out, only to frown as Duke leaned back away from him. "Relax," he said. "I just want to get a look."

"Look with your eyes," Duke mumbled, but even as he did, he let Nathan cup his chin and turn his head a little bit.

It took more effort than it should have to ignore the heat of Duke's skin against his fingers, but he managed. There were more important things than his internal conflict: namely, abuse suffered by the whole left side of Duke's face. Christ, but it looked like it hurt.

Frowning, Nathan left Duke and walked around the counter. It seemed like most of the damage didn't make it that far, and Nathan started rummaging around.

Duke spun around in his stool to watch Nathan. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you have a first aid kit back here somewhere?" Nathan asked. He'd seen it somewhere in one of the cabinets before – it was just remembering which one.

As if reading his mind, Duke leaned over the counter a little and pointed to the one just to the left of the one Nathan had been searching in. "Bottom right," he said.

Nathan shifted his search to the other cabinet, and sure enough, came up with a first aid kit that he was _reasonably_ sure was just a white tackle box with red tape on it. It'd do in a pinch, though, and after stopping by the sink real quick to wet a washcloth, he walked back around the counter and set out his supplies on the counter.

"Turn around," he instructed, and mercifully, Duke didn't argue. He turned around in the stool to face Nathan, and only flinched a little bit when Nathan resumed his grip on his chin.

He flinched considerably more when Nathan started wiping the blood off his face. He didn't complain, mind, but Nathan saw his fingers clench and his jaw tighten, and he knew. Duke could feel pain – _did_ feel pain.

Nathan was surprised to find how much that thought bothered him.

"A right hook, huh?" he said suddenly, hoping to distract Duke a little if he could.

Duke actually smiled a bit, albeit wryly. "You did hear the part where I said 'super-charged,' right?"

"Caught that," Nathan said. "And looking at your face, I can believe it."

"Yeah, yeah. Kick a man while he's d—ow!" Duke jerked back as Nathan's ministrations got a little too close to the gash, and when Nathan went to rein him back in with a hand on the back of his head, he hissed.

Nathan was quick to take his hand off Duke's head, and Duke was just as quick to hold his hand to it.

"What's wrong?" Nathan asked.

Duke, still holding his head like he was afraid it was going to fall off his shoulders, managed to grind out, "You really don't listen, do you?"

That wasn't true. Nathan had been listening fine. It was just…

"Headfirst," he said as it dawned on him. Duke had said he'd hit the counter headfirst.

"Give the man a prize," Duke mumbled. "And give this one an aspirin. Or more scotch." He looked like he was going to help himself to the latter, too, but before he could get hold of the bottle, Nathan beat him to it. Picking it up, he moved it just out of Duke's reach, and when he leaned back, Duke was…Duke was…

Duke was pouting.

"Nathan—"

"I'm cutting you off," Nathan said.

"That's my line."

"I'm serious, Duke."

"What else is new?"

"You could have a concussion," Nathan said. "You should be in a hospital getting an MRI, not sitting here getting drunk."

Duke just smiled again, though.

Nathan frowned. "What?"

"You're so cute when you're worried."

"Now I know you've got a concussion," Nathan said. He would pretend, for both their sakes, he didn't almost smile. Instead, he focused again on cleaning up Duke's face.

He started on his hands, just to make sure that there wasn't anything worse than the nicks and scrapes. With water, fresh and warm – he guessed – from the tap, he wiped away the blood that had smeared and dried on each long, calloused digit. Years of working on a boat would do that to a guy, he guessed. Elegant, but well-worn, they fit well in his own.

"Why are you doing this?"

The sudden break in the silence wasn't as jarring as Nathan thought it would be. Duke's voice was soft, rasped, and when Nathan looked up from his hands, he saw the other man looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite place. Confusion? Sadness? Hope?

The answer should've been simple enough. He could've said it was responsibility or just a friend helping a friend out, but…that wasn't it. It was more than that. It was deeper than that.

"Because all of this…" he gestured at the mess of the bar around him, then at the mess of Duke's eye. "It isn't fair. _I _wasn't fair. To you." He swallowed back the lump in his throat and went on. "You don't deserve this." To be beaten up, to be taken for granted or taken advantage of, to be constantly doubted and questioned at every turn for something he had no control over. Nathan knew firsthand what it was like to have a Trouble he didn't want; why should Duke's have been any different?

It shouldn't have.

But then, he guessed that was why he felt so guilty now.

He didn't know what it was about that moment – maybe it was the mess those guys had made of Duke's beloved bar; maybe it was the worn out, beat down look on Duke's bruised face – but he realized then that he'd been wrong. It wasn't something he liked to admit, but that didn't make it any less true: he'd been wrong, and he'd been cruel, and Duke hadn't deserved any of it.

Well, Duke hadn't deserved _most_ of it. Sometimes, he brought it on himself.

This wasn't one of those times, though. This time, Nathan could almost imagine the painful throbbing on his own cheek as he started with the rewetted rag on Duke's. Slowly, surely, the blood came away, but some redness remained. It would probably change colors by morning – blues, greens, purples, maybe – but Nathan was hoping he could get this done and get some ice on it so that it wouldn't be too bad.

"Hold still," he instructed as he opened a butterfly bandage. He braced one hand under Duke's chin and cupped the other to the side of Duke's face so that he could keep his hands as steady as possible, and with careful, deliberate movements, he pulled the bandage tight over the cut. It didn't escape his notice how Duke tensed, even flinched a little, but Nathan held him steady. "Hang tight. I'm almost done."

"Nathan." Duke's voice hitched, but Nathan couldn't seem to concentrate on anything but the warm smell of scotch on Duke's breath. It was intoxicating. _Duke_ was intoxicating. The feel of him, of the light stubble of his strong jaw against Nathan's palm, of the brush of his knees against Nathan's hips. He hadn't realized until then how close they were, and not just their faces; somehow, Nathan had ended up standing between Duke's knees. Vaguely, it occurred to him he should move. He should clear his throat, back away, leave before any more damage could be done. He should.

But…

He didn't.

He didn't do any of that.

He was too busy kissing him.

It wasn't pretty, by any means. It was sudden, brash, impulsive – more teeth than lips, and Nathan was pretty sure he accidentally brushed one of Duke's bruises.

It was real, though. More real than anything Nathan had felt since his Troubles started back again, and in its wake, all traces of thought fled Nathan's head. He was caught up in the feeling: in Duke's lips on his, in Duke's hands twisting in his shirt…it was insane.

It was insane.

He was fucking insane.

Suddenly, the realization hit him like a bucket of ice water: he was kissing Duke. Duke-freaking-Crocker, the guy that had antagonized him their whole lives, the guy that had _betrayed_ him—twice!

There was a reason he'd been avoiding him, damn it. Ever since he'd learned he could feel him…it was like being around him, his nerves were all exposed. There was this constant tension, like he was strung too tight. He couldn't _trust_ himself around him.

Clearly.

"Let me guess," Duke said quietly, breaking the heavy silence, but only adding to the tension between them. "That was a mistake." His voice was wry, almost derisive, but there was something in his eyes…anger? _Hurt_?

No….

"I should go."

Duke just shook his head and chuckled, and damned if it wasn't the most caustic sound Nathan had ever heard. It almost made him…ashamed. Like he'd disappointed him or something.

Then again, maybe he had.

"Let me give you a ride home." It wasn't much in the way of an apology, but it was something, right?

Not that Duke would accept it. "No thanks," he said, pushing himself onto his feet a little too gingerly for Nathan's tastes. He found it was almost all he could do not to try to help him, not to insist on taking him home anyway, or maybe even to the hospital.

But, no. He'd done enough damage.

So instead, he just said, "Make sure you don't drive."

And then he left Duke, alone, to keep drowning his sorrows.


	3. Chapter 3

"Paging Chief Wuornos."

A hand waving in front of his face snapped Nathan out of his daze. He blinked a few times, and found himself staring into the cheerful face of Audrey Parker.

"Chief Wuornos, do you copy?"

Nathan took a second to shake loose some of the cobwebs before replying. "Sorry, Parker. Did you say something?"

Luckily, Audrey took the whole 'I spaced out and wasn't listening to you' thing pretty well. She chuckled, propping her hip on his desk. "You know, you've been acting really weird these past few days. What's up?"

Sorry, did he say she took it well? He meant that she took it like she took everything else: as a mystery. And knowing her, she wasn't going to stop until she solved it.

Joy.

"It's nothing," Nathan said.

Audrey snorted. "Yeah, right. You've been playing space cadet since Wednesday, and now you've got me curious. So, you wanna share with the class? Or am I gonna have to go FBI on you?"

Never mind the fact that she hadn't been an FBI agent for about a year….

"I told you, Parker; it's—"

"Nothing," Audrey finished for him. "Right. So, does this nothing have a name?"

_Duke-fucking-Crocker_, Nathan thought.

What he actually said, though, was, "How about 'Louie Cornetto?'"

Audrey's eyebrow ticked, and she crossed her arms. "I mean, I didn't know you were into the whole mutton-chop murderer thing, but—"

It was Nathan's turn to raise an eyebrow. "'Mutton-chop murderer?'"

"Okay, it's not my most inspired work," Audrey admitted. "But you knew who I was talking about, didn't you?"

The sad thing was, he actually did. It seemed he was starting to get the hang of Parker-speak.

If only he could be even half as fluent in Crocker.

"Seriously, Nathan," Audrey said, once again snapping him out of his head, "what's up with you? You've been mopier than usual."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Thanks."

"You know what I meant."

He did. Again, fluent in Parker-speak. Maybe he should add it to his resume or something. Not that he thought he'd be applying for another job anytime soon.

"Does this happen to have anything to do with why I haven't seen Duke around lately?"

Nathan nearly flinched. It was true: Duke hadn't been making his usual visits to the station in days, and Nathan knew it wasn't coincidence that it'd started after that…_thing_ at the bar a couple days ago.

The desk creaked a little as Audrey leaned forward, and he could tell by the look on her face that she knew a lot more about what was going on – or, at least, suspected more – than he would've liked.

"This wasn't just one of your usual fights, was it?" she asked. There was something sad in her eyes as she asked. It looked an awful lot like sympathy.

That said it all; he didn't need to say a word.

He did anyway.

Sighing, he let his head fall forward into his hands, rubbing his face agitatedly. "No," he said. "No, it wasn't."

Audrey put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. "Nathan, what happened between you and Duke?"

That wasn't quite so easy a question to answer as the last one. It wasn't that he didn't trust Audrey or didn't want to talk to her. They had decided after that mess with Jordan that maybe they were better staying partners and leaving it at that, and as far as he could tell, they were both pretty comfortable with that.

No, the tricky part was just working up the nerve to admit to himself what'd happened. It would've been too easy to blame Duke, to say that he should've just stayed away from him, that he was nothing but trouble, but the fact of the matter was that Duke hadn't made Nathan take that call. He hadn't made Nathan stay.

He hadn't made Nathan kiss him.

And wasn't that the bitch of it all?

"Audrey," he said after a long, _heavy_ silence, "I think I l—"

A sharp knock at the door cut Nathan off, and both he and Audrey turned to see Stan standing breathless in the doorway.

"What is it?" Nathan said, maybe a little too sharply. He told himself it was because Stan looked like he was in a hurry and not because he was upset that the guy had interrupted his confession.

"Louie Coreno, Chief," Stan said. "We've got a line on him. Someone called in, said they saw him headed for Tuwiuwok Bluff. Said they saw a woman following him: thirties, black clothes, black hair."

Nathan and Audrey exchanged glances. "Jordan," they said in unison. Immediately, Nathan was on his feet, grabbing his gun and badge off the desk and clipping them to his belt. Slowing only long enough to snatch his coat off the back of his chair, he was about to make for the door when he noticed Audrey…

Audrey was on the phone.

"Parker, what are you—?" But she held up a hand, and he wisely quieted down, waiting impatiently until she hung up before trying again. "What are you doing?"

"There's been another building collapse over by the Rust Bucket," she reported grimly.

They both knew that was Coreno's MO, bringing down buildings. They assumed it was some sort of Trouble; all of the five collapses they'd seen seemed to come from the foundations of the buildings, like some sort of earthquake.

Audrey was frowning, and Nathan gets the impression he's not going to like what she's going to say next. "Someone needs to be there."

He was right. "We can't just let Louie go. If we know where he is—"

"Then we should go after him." Audrey nodded. "I know that. You go, Nathan. You know the area better than I do. I'll take care of cleanup."

Nathan didn't necessarily care for that idea, separating like that, but he knew he didn't have much choice in the matter. "Alright," he said. "Be careful, Parker. We don't know if the tip's any good. I don't want you walking into a trap."

"Same goes for you, partner," Audrey told him.

Nodding, Nathan shrugged on his coat and hit the road running.


End file.
